


Rhetorical

by VeronicaRich



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaRich/pseuds/VeronicaRich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rimmer doesn’t like being taken for granted, and Lister gets a lesson in hologram appreciation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhetorical

“What a stupid question,” Rimmer muttered, shaking his head as he cleaned one of the myriad boiler parts Lister had charged him with degreasing of gunk. “That’s like asking why you’re sleeping with me.”

“Eh?” Lister’s voice wafted out from behind the large water tank.

“The Cat. Wanting to know why you drink so much more tea than you used to,” Rimmer answered patiently, clearly put out. “Doesn’t he know you’re down to your last fifty cans of lager?”

This time, Lister’s voice was accompanied by Lister’s face, peering around the side of the tank. “What the smeg are you on about?”

“All I meant was that your reasons for switching to water and tea are comparable to you crawling into my bunk of a night.”

He pondered that for about thirty seconds; there was no roadmap to Rimmer’s mind, and he wasn’t sure any that could be drawn would be at all accurate. “How are they the same?” Lister wanted to know. He extended a finger as he started counting. “With you, one, because you’re-”

“It was _rhetorical_ , Dave.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Rimmer repeated, glancing up, frowning. “Because it’s an obvious answer. You use what’s at hand and available.” He shook his head, going back to his cleaning.

Lister opened his mouth to say something, but while no sound came out, his mouth popped open and hung that way, stupidly, for a moment. He wasn’t sure he’d heard what he thought he had, but this was Rimmer; he probably had. Finally, he shut it and tried again. “Obvious, is it?”

“That’s what rhetorical _means_. Either that, or a question that can’t be answered.” Rimmer’s tone was long-suffering.

 _Well, that second one might apply when it comes to you._ Rather than protest, he only said, “Ahh. I see,” and leaned back down behind the tank to work on the regulator. As they worked in mutual silence for the next hour, Lister thought this over. Was Rimmer really so goited insecure that he equated Lister having sex with him on a regular basis – _and sleeping with him, and watching HIS movies and listening to HIS Risk campaign yawn-fests, and smoking less for HIM, and not strangling him over HIS political views_ – to drinking water instead of lager simply because there was more of it available?

 _Who am I kidding?_ he answered himself. _This is RIMMER. His parents were Hoppists, but he’s a lifelong Insecurist._

The rest of the evening was spent in the company of Cat and Kryten, first having supper and then the four of them in the midsection trying to clean out each other’s stolen knick-knack collections via poker and rummy. When Lister finally returned to his quarters after his watch ended at 3 a.m., he hesitated near the bunks. Rimmer was snoring away, scooted back against the wall of his lower bed as usual on these nights, leaving space for Lister. Instead, he quietly removed everything but his undershirt and shorts, and climbed into the upper bunk he hadn’t been in for a couple of months or so. He was exhausted, but not enough to fall asleep right away, still bothered by Rimmer’s remarks from earlier.

Nothing was said when Lister finally woke up, took a quick shower, and joined the others for lunch later that day. After electing to sleep alone for the next couple of nights, however, he was accosted while dressing after his shower a few mornings later. “Are you going to be sleeping in the upper bunk again from now on?” Rimmer asked, his tone brisk and officious.

Glancing up from tying his laces, Lister shrugged. When he didn’t answer, though, Rimmer prodded with, “Well?”

“Sorry, I thought it was another one of those rhetorical questions,” he said calmly, switching to the other boot. When he looked up to find Rimmer regarding him with confusion, he added, “Ones where the answer’s obvious?”

Rimmer’s nostrils flared briefly, and his expression wavered for a moment, then settled into a familiar annoyance. “Your-” he began, clearly flailing and trying just as hard not to look like he was. “Your pillow’s still down there.” He pointed at the lower bunk.

“Yeah, I’ll grab it later.” Lister stood up, stretching his neck by rolling his head.

“Well, why wait?” Rimmer’s voice had fallen into its old, snotty condescension, but Lister marked with some bemusement it was an octave higher than usual. “Wouldn’t want to forget it by mistake and have to wake me to pull it out later.”

“True,” Lister nodded. He ambled the few steps to the bunks, retrieved his pillow, beat it a few times for fluffing, and tossed it up onto the upper bunk before turning to face Rimmer. “There. All moved out.”

It was obvious Rimmer had things to say – things to yell and rant about, was more like it – but instead, quivering with unexpressed indignation and probably anger, he spun on his heel and clip-clopped out of the room in his polished jackboots. _Jackboots for a jackass_ , Lister thought, shaking his head and sticking his hands in his pockets. His fingers found an old cigarette, which he pulled out and eyed with newfound desire. “Might as well enjoy ‘em while this lasts,” he said aloud, turning to search for his lighter in their odds-and-ends drawer.

This went on for the better part of another week, Rimmer pointedly ignoring him unless he had to communicate for work, all the while trying to be casual. This latter bit alone would have been enough to send Lister into gales of laughter if the situation were different; as it was, he often had to smother a snigger anyway. Rimmer would be winning no Oscars for brilliant acting, that was for sure. Even Kryten and Cat had noticed something was up, but did little more than shoot puzzled looks at Lister when Rimmer’s back was turned.

One night when Rimmer was on watch, Lister woke up thirsty; unable to go back to sleep easily, he clambered down out of his bunk and padded to the midsection after sleepily grabbing the nearest robe, which he belted around his waist along the way. He was going through the multitude of choices in the tea cabinet – Earl Grey dust, black tea crumbles, Darjeeling powder – when he heard a noise behind him. Instead of moving aside he turned to face Rimmer, who was clearly waiting for him to move aside. “Need something?” Lister asked, trying not to yawn.

“Just waiting to get some tea,” he answered, eyes fixed above Lister’s shoulder on the cabinet door.

“That so?” Rimmer was visibly uncomfortable, which stirred something in him. “What kind you want?”

“I can make it myself.” The hologram’s eyes never moved.

“I don’t mind; I can bring a cup to you,” he answered softly, knowing the effect it had. _You’re a right bastard, Dave_ , he cheerily told himself.

Rimmer swallowed, but kept his jaw tense as he made to step back. “Not at all. Just let me know when you’re done in here.”

“You sure, darlin’?”

For a moment, those greenish eyes flicked to his and Lister saw indecision, desire, a little fear – and perhaps even anger. Lister kept himself relaxed, leaning back against the counter, even as he wanted to kiss the man and slide his hands up his back, pressing their bodies together. “Yes, _Lister_ , I’m sure I can make my own tea, thank you,” he answered, the high octave gone. “I take it a certain way and I’m choosy about how I make it.”

“Three sugars, a shot of cream or milk,” Lister replied automatically, trying not to smile too broadly.

Rimmer didn’t smile, though Lister knew he was correct. His eyes did, however, drop to Lister’s body before he turned away. “ Next time, you might want to put on one of _your_ robes,” he said dismissively, gesturing at what Lister just now looked down to realize was Rimmer’s fluffy maroon terrycloth. Then, he walked back to the cockpit.

He didn’t make Rimmer any tea. Let the ill-tempered goit get his own, he reasoned.

Two nights later when he returned to their quarters after his watch shift, Lister found Rimmer seated at the small table, paging through a magazine; he stopped to look up once, then returned to reading, restlessly flipping pages as Lister hung his jacket over the back of the other chair and pulled off his boots. When he headed toward the ladder, Rimmer tossed the magazine aside and stood. “That’s all I am,” he started in. “A generic ‘darlin’.’”

There was a lot Lister could have said to that. Instead, he simply paused and turned to face the man, waiting for more. He was soon rewarded. “Look, Lister, I know your choices are limited. I know if we’d stayed alive on the _Dwarf_ with everybody else, I would’ve just stayed a blip on your radar. I don’t expect much, but … I … some originality would be nice, okay?”

Now Lister said, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m no Kochanski, or Lise Yates, or whoever else you knocked your grotty boots with way back in the past,” he snapped. “So I wish you wouldn’t pretend like I am by using the same little pet names for me you used for _them_. I’m not ‘babe’ or ‘darlin’’ or ‘sweetie pie,’ and I am most definitely NOT ‘angel’ or ‘lovey-dove.’” He sighed, looking down at his hands. “I’d just be happy with my regular name; hell, even ‘smeghead’ is preferable to what you call all those women.”

Lister cocked his head, studying him. “Is that why you got cross at me?” No answer was as good a confirmation as any. “Why didn’t you say so earlier? I don’t think about what I’m saying in the middle of making love; it just sort of falls out.”

“Call it what it is,” Rimmer mumbled, his fingers grabbing and twisting each other. “Shagging.”

“Is that all you think it is?” Lister moved closer, placing himself maybe a foot from Rimmer. “Convenience?” When Rimmer said nothing, Lister angled his head down while pushing Rimmer’s chin higher with a couple of fingers, so their eyes met somewhere in the middle. “That’s not a rhetorical question, Arn.”

“Isn’t that what it is?”

“Is that all it is to you?” The emotions that flickered across his face gave Lister his answer, relieving him. “As long as we’ve been together before all this, as long as you’ve known me – have I ever tried to get someone into bed just for a smegging quick shag?” He smiled and repeated, “That’s not a rhetorical question, either.”

Rimmer shook his head slowly, then said, “I guess not.”

Out of patience, Lister moved his hand to the nape of Rimmer’s neck and kissed him deeply, wrapping his other arm around the man’s waist. Rimmer hesitated, then parted his lips, kissing him willingly, then eagerly. After two or three minutes of this, Lister gasped in some air as they took a break. “Damn near forgot how incredible that feels.” He moved his hand up into the other man’s hair, grabbing loose handfuls and stroking; his other hand was tucked into the back waistband of Rimmer’s tight trousers, possessively palming the warm hologrammatic skin. Rimmer sighed, his own hands between Lister’s skin and shirt, bunching into fists and relaxing there. “I missed you.”

“I missed your god awful snoring,” was all Rimmer would say in return, but he kissed Lister, making him laugh. “And how warm you are.”

“And how good you feel around me,” Lister murmured, rubbing his back, pleased when he heard Rimmer exhale a strangled purr.

“And how you taste,” Rimmer continued, licking the corner of his mouth. “God help me, with such questionable bathing habits.”

“I guess you wouldn’t want to hear I love you, seeing as it’s not very original,” Lister ventured, turning his head to meet those lips in a quick kiss. He felt Rimmer tense in his arms, then relax.

“Course not,” he sniffed, unconvincing. “I mean, really, Dave.”

“Sorry, man,” Lister apologized with no audible regret, pulling the other man toward the lower bunk. “I promise I’ll try to expand my vocabulary, Rimsey; just for you.” He paused just long enough to reach up and feel around for his pillow, hinting broadly, “Maybe with some positive reinforcement …”

“Maybe,” Rimmer agreed, now instigating the kisses and pulling at Lister’s shirt. “Miracles happen all the time.”

“Yeah,” Lister agreed, wrapping both arms around him this time. “They sure do.”


End file.
